Rewritting Our Lives
by Proserpina-FC
Summary: It takes all the self-righteous restraint Harry and Hermione have to not give up on the twisted Wizarding World. The chapters are in a nonsequential order, bouncing about all seven years.
1. A Lesson from the Marauders: B3

I rewrite Harry Potter Scenes. I don't own anything. Rowling pwns.

----

**A Lesson from the Marauders: Book 3  
**

After seeing what Harry's father had to go through with Peter Pettigrew, the Golden Trio argued on their way back to Hagrid's for the last time that year on whether it was really a good idea to chum up to Malfoy afterall.

"His father was a Death Eater, Hermione, and I'm buying his 'I was Imperialized for my resources' excuse less and less," Harry added.

"That's the damn understatement of the year," Ron said, feeling happier about "the Malfoy Situation" than he had all year. "If Mr. Malfoy were really reformed and really sorry, he and Dumbledore would be friends. He wouldn't be this much of a prat. In one year, he's petitioned for Buckbeak to die, for Hargid to be fired and has shown up to every Quidditch game looking like he'd hex Harry right off his broom!"

"That last one is about as definite as our 'Snape's gonna hex Harry right off his broom' suspicions before," Hermione said. "And don't give me that look. I am not going to defend Malfoy or his father. This year has been a horrid mess as far as connecting to those two. I did not tell you this before, because I knew you'd be mad, and it was in the middle of the Buckbeak trial, so I didn't want us to do anything to anger him more, not that seemed possible considering what he said..."

Harry did not like the sound of this at all.

"But Mr. Malfoy's last letter to me was basically a scalding, foot long rant about how I had no place, as a child, a girl or a—" Hermione twitched her lip "—Muggleborn, to question him as much as I did and if my parents were civilized people at all, they would lock me away in an asylum." Hermione scrunched her shoulders inward to mentally prepare for—

"WHAT?!" Ron exploded in a wave of arms. "Who does that evil, pompus ass think he is? Hermione, why wouldn't you tell us about that? We could have done something. We can still do something. Here," he jabbed his hand out over Harry's chest, to where she was walking on the other side of him, "give me that racist git's address and I'll give _him_ a 'scalding rant' that'll make his preppy hair fall out."

Hermione just stared at him. "I haven't it on me right now."

Ron pouted, and quickly dropped his arm. "Well, that's top priority, that."

Harry saw his opportunity as Ron's chest deflated and he began to murmur what Harry assumed were the insults he'll write. "Hermione, it seems your plan to keep up a decent conversation with Mr. Malfoy backfired."

Hermione nodded, now also pouting a bit.

Harry swung his arm around her, then, in afterthought, swung the other around Ron. The looks Malfoy gave him when he was with Hermione paled compared to Ron's glares. Harry still didn't know what he was going to do about that.

"Well, I suppose this meeting is closing? Malfoy has been removed from the Annoying Git shelf and is back on the Incurable Bully shelf, probably indefinitely."

Ron looked as if the Chudley Cannons were entering a seven-week winning streak, while Hermione was trying to look as inexpressive as possible.

"Are we in agreement?" Harry continued. "Let the Griffindor say aye! Aye."

"Aye!"

"Yeah, aye."

"Oi!"

Harry turned as quickly as he could, considering that he had two people latched to his side. Draco Malfoy, the devil's son himself, was running down the hill after them, flipping his attention between them and dodging the pointy rocks.

"You three prats," he called out, huffing "why'd you do it? Huh? Do you hate me that much, you'd side with criminals and dangerous beasts over me?" Malfoy had reached them and was giving each an accusing glare. "You're hypocrites."

"Malfoy, what are you going on about?" Harry gave him a hard stare and prepared himself for a bunch of lying. Snape told Malfoy, the git.

"Professor Snape told me everything," Malfoy drawled, "so shut it. You freed that crazed animal. And the giant chicken, too."

Harry had only known of Sirius' innocence for a few hours, yet he snatched at Malfoy's throat as if he'd been raised with Sirius beside him all along.

"You don't know what you're talking about, so _you_ shut it."

"I'd think you'd be this angry with him, Potter. Didn't he hand in your parents? I should tell Longbottom you've buddied up with his attempted murderer."

Ron grabbed at Malfoy's side. "Do you ever shut up?"

"Boys, stop it! Let go of him!"

Malfoy pushed against Harry's heated chest and both boys toppled, limbs flailing. Ron dived onto the git and pinned him to the ground. Harry wiggled his arms free, though his legs weren't getting any kind treatment.

"Stop it! Malfoy, he didn't do it, that's why!"

"No," Harry barked up to her, "To hell with him! He doesn't deserve to know the truth."

But Hermione was crying and looking positively defeated. "No one knows the truth about anything! Everyone's dying because no one bothers to talk, Harry."

Harry kept his eyes on her if he ever hoped on calming down. He felt Malfoy and Ron stop their tussling and finally get off his legs.

"Harry, it's mostly your story to tell, so I won't blab, but I already talked to him about Tonks and about how I felt about, you know, everything in general. I haven't told him what I also said about his father. I haven't told anyone much these days. I'm—"

"What _about_ my father?"

"You remember that argument I had with him last year?"

Malfoy was on his feet. He nodded.

"I haven't stopped arguing with him since then, really. I gave a letter to Professor Snape every other week or so to be sent to Mr. Malfoy. And he gave me a letter back. But after you were injured, he told me off for being Muggleborn."

"Again," Ron started, as he dusted off his dirty jeans, "that's the understatement of the year."

But Malfoy's glare stayed on Hermione. "As right he should. Who do you think you are, talking to my father in secret? He's a married man, you know!"

"It wasn't in secret, Professor Snape knew!" Hermione shouted right back, clutching the hem of her skirt. "And Headmaster, I think. About the last one, at least. Professor doesn't read my mail, but all three of us discuss it. We've been talking about Muggleborn rights and all that poppycock about Wizarding class divisions. But then he blew up when you just _had _to insult Buckbeak, so Professor took that letter to the Headmaster." Hermione added in afterthought, "Didn't he ask to read them all?"

"He didn't tell me about this."

"All you do is parrot his every word. That doesn't add much to a discussion."

"He should still tell me! And I have my own damn opinions, mudblood, I just don't—"

But there was no having the end of his statement, as Ron was back to pounding him in the side.

Hermione breathed in and out slowly, and turned her full attention to Harry. "Well, I am feeling much better, actually. I may be more inclined to let you boys fight."

Harry smirked. "So kind of you. Hermione, you didn't use the Time-Tuner for these discussions, too, did you?"

"No, but for the research to prepare for them, yes." Hermione nonchalantly counted off on her fingers, as if bending the rules of time and space to talk to a Death Eater was par for the course. "Every month I had to read new, obscure history about something terrible Muggles did 400 years ago that is supposed to justify 'pureblood defensivism' today. Then there were the laws and trials he kept mentioning about how difficult it is to keep the Wizarding World secret because Muggleborn families were inherently unstable and created security leaks. And then, of course, I gave up and bought an unabridged dictionary in Hogsmeade to keep up with all the fancy words he used to confuse me."

Hermione gave a dry, haughty laugh. "Of course, he only pulled out the university-level verbiage when he realized he was getting his butt whooped by a thirteen-year-old in debate."

"Stop talking to my father!"

"I already have," Hermione said with an impatient snap. "I'm leaving. Hagrid's probably got tea and biscuits waiting on a warmer, _being the civilized and gentle person that he is_."

Harry looked at the two fighting purebloods with waning interest. Listening to Hermione diss Draco's dad and drinking warm butterbeer sounded so much more inviting than tussling in the mud, no matter how much Malfoy insulted Sirius, Buckbeak, or Harry's sanity. So, he followed Hermione.

"Good thing, that. Snape doesn't know you've had that Time-Turner, does he? That could really implicate us."

"'Implicate us'? You're beginning to sound like a real Marauder, Harry."

"Then all's well that ends well."

"Oi! I didn't come down here for this treatment! What about Sirius Black, Potter?"

Harry breathed in deep. If Hermione could do it, so could he.

"Sirius Black is completely innocent of being a Death Eater, handing by parents over to Lord Voldemort and of murdering twelve people and Peter Pettigrew. It was Pettigrew that did all of that, except of course killing himself, and he's been on the lam since then like the rat he is. I don't know how Sirius got out of the high tower, Malfoy. Probably the same way he got out of Azkaban. Really. If he could do that, the high tower isn't much of a stretch." Okay, he had to throw in that lie. It's bloody Malfoy.

Harry looked into Malfoy's disbelieving eyes.

"But I saw Peter Pettigrew tonight. And I know that Sirius is the victim of exactly what Hermione said: No one caring about the truth. They didn't even give him a trial. Didn't care. Tonks told me that. And you know, that's your cousin. But she's forbidden to speak to you all because her father's a Muggle?"

Malfoy snorted and shrugged his shoulders, as if Harry wasn't supposed to remember his tense, searching glances at her when the Aurors arrived to escort the kids out the castle.

"Draco, the day Tonks is hunting _you_ down because her Muggle-infested family is automatically dysfunctional, is the day I concede to you. But until then, go ask your Death Eater dad who really turned in my parents and who killed hundreds of wizards in this century, not the last one." _And who hurt Neville's parents, and who killed Mrs. Weasley's brothers, and who ruined just about every magical life in Great Britain._

Harry stepped a bit closer to Malfoy and Ron joined him on his side.

"And the answer will be purebloods, Draco. Let's see him explain that."

Harry walked away.

"A half-blood, Potter."

"What?"

"The Dark Lord was a half-blood. The irony in that never ceases to amaze me. Though his pureblood followers, I'll concede to them being pureblooded."

"You are an honest man, Malfoy."

"Nothing gets pass you, mate," Ron added with a grin.

"Don't beat me up, then patronize me."

Hermione stepped up. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

Malfoy tugged at his filthy sweater sleeves as he started at all three of them. "Whatever." Malfoy turned on his heel and ran back up the hill.

Ron and Hermione turned their sights back to Hagrid's hut. They spoke loudly about what they feared was a permanent scarring of the mental state of Hogwart's students.

"Really," Ron drawled, "Letting Dementors into the school? I wonder who else has gone the way of the banshee?"

Harry watched the Malfoy-dot disappear on the hilltop, into the school which never seemed as safe as it advertised. Yes, Harry was a hypocrite, though an atoning one. He didn't think it wise to repeat the mistakes of his father and his god-father, not when every year presented more lethal mistakes to be made. Choosing friends, even, seemed a life or death decision in this strange world.

"I'm taking back my vote. Malfoy doesn't go on any shelf. Not until we've investigated further."

Ron looked completely taken back. "I thought we were finally done with this."

All Hermione said was, "Why?"

"We've four more years of living with him, so who are we to say how this ends? In fact, we might as well count the rest of our lives as unpredictable."

"Harry, I ain't got that much optimism in me."

Harry threw his arms around the two people he knew for sure were his friends. "But Ron, we're sure to see Malfoy just as often forever as now. We live in such a _disgustingly small community_."


	2. The Start of the Discussion: B2

The Start of the Discussion: Book 2

"Severus, there is a small girl staring at me. Make her stop."

"What? Oh. That's Hermione Granger. Run away now. Save yourself."

"Oh, _that's_ Miss Granger." Lucius Malfoy did the exact opposite of running away and strode firstly to where Hermione sat on the stone wall running along the hills. "Oh, yes, now I recognize you. Couldn't tell without the books and robes, really. How do you do, Miss Granger?"

"I do perfectly well, sir."

"Is there a reason that you are boring a hole into my skull with your eyes?"

"I suppose there is a reason for everything, sir."

Mr. Malfoy laughed a short burst of air to acknowledge the cheek. "If you don't mind, I would like you to stop."

Hermione didn't answer for a moment. Instead, she took in her surroundings. Professor Snape, looking very put out, walked up behind Mr. Malfoy and seemed to be hiding behind him. Hermione assumed he was insisting against him talking to her like he had when they were in front of the Quidditch field entrance. Adults were still leaving through the archway, talking excitedly about the fifth game of the season, a rousing game between Slytherin and Ravenclaw, where Draco Malfoy neglected to grab the Snitch. Again.

"Did you enjoy the game, Mr. Malfoy?"

He sneered a bit and gathered his cloak from in front of him. "I don't have time for this."

Hermione heard Professor Snape's breathy retort, "I said that five minutes ago."

As Mr. Malfoy turned to leave, Hermione called out, more loudly than necessary, "And if you could speak to Draco about calling me a mudblood, that would be appreciated."

Mr. Malfoy turned on his heel and glared at Hermione as if she were his greatest fear and enemy. "_What?_"

Professor Snape added, "Miss Granger, how dare you."

Hermione shuffled on the stone she sat on. "In a boarding school, one rarely gets the chance to address bullying with the real authority in a child's life, the father. This didn't seem like a chance to pass up."

A few adults had stopped their Chaser chatting. More than a few kids were laughing.

Professor Snape stepped forward. "I think this is something best spoken about in my office, Miss Granger. Come with--"

"There's Draco now! Draco! Come here, Draco!"

Malfoy had been preoccupied with his broom when he left the stadium. So much so, he probably hadn't heard Hermione yell out his name. Or, perhaps, he knew exactly what she had said, because even now he fiddled with it, flicking off every clump of dirt, pulling at every piece of high quality enchanted straw.

He slumped up beside his highly tense father. "What are you all looking at me for?"

Mr. Malfoy grabbed his son's shoulder and pulled him closer to the hills, closer to Hermione's alter. "Did you insult this little girl?"

"Ow. Maybe. Who are you? Ow!"

Mr. Malfoy had hit Malfoy's arm with his cane. Malfoy dropped his broom, but was yanked back in line when he reached for it.

"Draco. Did you insult this girl?"

"I'm sorry," Malfoy insisted and reached again for his Nimbus 2001.

"Oh Draco, there's no point in insulting yourself too." Hermione said, looking down at his bended back. He glared at her, looking all of threats and cruelty. "My only desire is to get to the root of this problem, which I think is Draco's inability to argue with me articulately."

Professor Snape lunged for Hermione's leg.

She hopped off the stone wall and stood just arm's length in the grass, four feet above the ground Professor stood on. "I mean, really, Mr. Malfoy, if I say that he isn't talented enough to be Slytherin Seeker, his response is 'mudblood'. If I tell him that he's stirring his potion too quickly and will earn us both a T, his response is 'mudblood'. There have even been times I didn't speak at all and he turned to me and said 'mudblood'." Hermione threw her arms up.

"There is a darling Muggle cartoon about magical animals that can speak but only say their own names." She bent down and whispered, "I think your son is a Mudblood."

Lucius stared at her. "You don't say?"

"Miss Granger, you should know that you've cost Gryffindor 50 points for each use of that word."

"Being the exceptionally excellent student that I am, Professor, I can make that up by the end of the month. But Draco's waning skills worry me. I was hoping I could speak to him intelligently about all this 'Muggleborns are scary' business, but I usually a fight breaks out. Do you think it's because he's a boy? Boys seem to prefer violence over civil discussion."

"And girls seem to prefer catty insults to direct confrontation, Miss Granger. If my son has been insulting you, I'll gladly correct him. But I won't have you insulting him and myself in return, just for exhibition."

"I apologize, then, sir."

"Draco." Mr. Malfoy held a bit tighter to Malfoy's shoulder. "It would do you well to remember this day and what I had to suffer through the next time you feel the urge to insult a Muggleborn girl."

"Yes, Father."

"And you would be best off to remember that the Wizarding world is a _disgustingly small community_ in which the enemies you make today will be your enemies for the rest of your life; unless you plan to move to France or live with the Muggles."

At this, Malfoy gawked at Hermione, all the horror of this implication plastered on his small, pale face. Hermione, in turn, smiled as sweetly as she could.

"So do your best, son, to stay away from bitterly cold women, and their friends, lest you suffer their wrath for your supernaturally long life." The students who lingered behind burst out hearty roars at this. Professor Snape looked away with an uncomfortable expression.

But Hermione felt her blood flowing with the sort of enthusiasm Harry often described after playing Quidditch. She stuck out her chest and crossed her arms. "Truer words are rarely spoken, Mr. Malfoy. We are a very small community. We need to understand each other. Could you give me information, anything, to help me better understand Draco's fear of me?"

"I'm not afraid of you!"

"Miss Granger, if anything I said could have influenced Draco's impression of Muggleborn witches and wizards, it's my lamentations, as school governor, that so few Muggleborn students are able to adapt to wizarding life and so many tragedies have occurred because of choosing between two opposing cultures. Now, if you would excuse me, I would like to move on with my life." Mr. Malfoy pulled Malfoy along.

"Oh, please do! As Draco can protest, I practically live in the library. I'll be sure to look up confirmation of those tragic students."

Mr. Malfoy almost turned back around, but on the last inch shot Hermione a glare instead. "You do that."

The tittering, excited crowds along the Quidditch stadium thinned. The air had a chill now and smelled heavily of that night's dinner preparing. Professor Snape's glower and cold demeanor looked all the more frightening in the evening sun.

Hermione felt cold, but shook it off for the chance to appear foolhardy brave. She jumped off the stone wall, landing in a hunch in the crunchy autumn leaves. "Would you like to give me a detention, Professor Snape?"

He gestured to the path leading to the castle and Hermione lead the way, obedient as always.

"There aren't enough punishments permitted for all your effrontery."

"But you'll try, Professor?"

"Oh, yes. I'll try."


	3. The Quidditch World Cup: B4

**The Quidditch World Cup: Book 4**

Harry pushed the little red hat onto Ron's head, snubbing his prideful insistences. "Take it, you fool! Take the tiny hat!"

Hermione ran in front of them, bouncing through the crowds of green and red. She stretched her neck up the staircase and mouthed out what Harry assumed were numbers. "We've three flights left. Come on, you guys, come on!"

"Tell him the hat is cute, Hermione. He'll wear it if you tell him it's cute!"

Hermione smiled slyly and made a break for the stairs.

"What did you say that for?!"

"Because it's true." Harry broke into a run himself. He tossed back his bag of snacks to be more agile. Once around, twice around, he dodged through the kids spinning in circles with their Bulgarian Twisting Bells. Harry didn't bother looking behind him. If Ron could catch up, he'd feel the pain of his embarrassing wrath soon enough.

Harry ran up the stairs, but ran into Hermione. "Why'd you stop?"

Hermione curtsied.

Harry turned to face her direction. "Oh, Minister! I didn't see you there." Harry bowed politely. "Thank you so much, again, for inviting us."

"Oh, Harry," Cornelius Fudge pounded his back heartily. "I could scarcely imagine this event without you."

"Really?"

"I've seen your prowess for myself, dear boy." Fudge tapped his nose. "Just point to the team and I'll personally introduce you to the coach."

"That's very generous of you, Minister."

"Nothing to it."

Ron came up on his side. He was grinning madly. "Minister, you really are a bighearted fellow. Harry and I love Quidditch. What's your prediction for the game?"

"Oh, as if my biased opinions have any value, Mr. Weasley. I've been insisting England would win out since Transylvania and we all saw how that turned out."

Ron nodded with sincere anguish.

Harry, feeling a more detailed recount than even he cared to hear coming on, wiggle free of the thick, morbid tenor and stumbled over to the banister where Hermione was looking out at the field.

"I couldn't agree more, Minister," Ron had started, "I felt it was a bad omen when Vosper smashed into sixteen consecutive mirrors during that pre-game practice. Did they ever find the bloke who thought putting mirror panels on the concession walls was a good idea?"

Fudge fumbled with his bowler hat. "No, no. We formed a special investigative team, but nothing came off it. We believe the man fled to France."

Ron grunted.

"What in the world? Potter!"

Harry looked around. "Yeah?"

"Down here, Potter."

Harry looked below. Draco Malfoy, dressed in a black suit for some godforsaken reason, stared at him in disbelief.

Ron ran into the banister. "Malfoy!"

"Weasley!"

"Marco Polo," Harry called out, annoyed. "Hello there, Malfoy. Don't you look sharp."

"How did you three get in here?"

"With our tickets."

"Yeah but," Draco pointed at each of them, looking genuinely perplexed, "you're poor, orphaned and Muggleborn."

"Well, I never." Minister Fudge appeared to Ron's left, leaning over to peek at Draco's paling face. "I don't think that's at all the proper way to address classmates, Mr. Malfoy."

"Minister…"

"Oh Minister," Hermione cooed. She darted to Fudge's free side and grasped his arm. "Don't think badly of him, sir. That's so mild, its endearing."

"Yeah," Harry added, "practically petnames compared to his usual taunts."

"Speak for yourself," Ron muttered.

"Even so, it's very unbecoming for a gentleman to point out a man's unsavory aspects so bluntly."

Ron turned to Fudge. "What's unsavory about being Muggleborn?"

Hermione grasped at Fudge again. "Oh Ron, don't start. How many Galleons do my parents have to afford tickets to the Quidditch World Cup? It's a valid concern you've addressed in your administration, sir; adding immigrated Muggleborns who have little wealth by wizard standards." Hermione pulled Fudge along, back towards the stairs. "It must be hard to talk about while walking the politically correct tightrope, but you manage wonderfully. I watched your last economics address."

"You watched that, my dear?" Fudge laughed fretfully. "I don't think my own cabinet watches my addresses."

"A poor shame, too. But now really isn't the time to talk about that. Now is Irish versus Bulgaria, though I believe you were just speaking about England's trouncing by Transylvania?"

Harry heard Fudge's indignant retort as he climbed the stairs. "390 to 10 is not a trouncing, my dear. It was actually a very strategic resignation."

Harry looked down to Malfoy's burning face. "Hermione just saved your life, in a manner of speaking."

"I'm overjoyed. I should have known you got in on the coattails of someone else, Potter." Draco gestured them off and left.

"There's enough egg on his face to feed a hippogriff," Harry murmured. "Do you think he'll be a problem?"

"If you have to ask that question, I don't see why he's 'off the shelf'."

"Further investigation needed. I told you. We aren't even back at school."

"Did you hear that, what the Minister said?"

"A gaffe."

"A gaffe my ass. The whole world's out to get Hermione." Ron peered beyond the banister, checking on Malfoy's movements.

Somewhere in the crowd, Fred and George were yelling Harry's name. Harry tugged on Ron's shirt. "Then you'd better learn stronger spells."


End file.
